After calming Ifadur, who was genuinely concerned about the health of the first-year student, the Skeleton Principal moved on to the more pressing matter.

“That’s beside the point. I told you to practice music magic, not start dabbling in the basics of utterance magic. You’re swinging a dragon-slaying sword just to cut down a chicken...”

“But didn’t he succeed in casting music magic?” The old tortoise bard seemed puzzled by the principal’s criticism.

Where the Lord Gonadaltes valued the intricate mechanisms behind magic, Ifadur, as a musician, saw success as simply being able to perform the magic, regardless of how it came to fruition.

The principal could barely contain his disdain. *This is why non-mages will never truly understand magic.* To a real mage, magic wasn’t about “getting results” any way you could; it was about respecting its complexity and potential.

“Wardanaz will understand if he hears it. Wardanaz, come here for a moment... Actually, let’s discuss this in private.” 

The principal had initially planned to talk in front of Ifadur but quickly changed his mind. *Knowing Wardanaz, he might stubbornly resist just to be difficult.*

“What is it?” asked I-han.

“Do you even realize what you just did?”

“Music magic?”

“Listen carefully,” the Skeleton Principal said, with an unusual gentleness. 

*What you just performed wasn’t typical music magic; you’re not even controlling your mana properly,* he began. *What you tapped into was a fundamental, yet crucial aspect of high-level magic, specifically the foundational principles of utterance magic.*

“But I still succeeded, right?”

*Thank goodness I didn’t say this in front of Ifadur,* thought the principal.

“Once you’ve opened the door to utterance magic, you should pursue it seriously instead of wasting time with something trivial like music magic.”

“Wait, but didn’t you support my seniors’ research into music magic?” I-han pointed out sharply.

The principal pretended not to hear the sharp truth.

“But utterance magic is supposed to be incredibly advanced, isn’t it?”

“That’s true.”

Just as I-han wouldn’t attempt to master the principal’s world-creating magic in his first year, the same rule applied to utterance magic—it was simply beyond him for now.

“But what you managed to do just now is the core, foundational element of utterance magic, and it’s precisely what most mages fail to achieve,” the principal explained.

Typically, spellcasting relies on a mage’s willpower—a form of intense self-suggestion. However small the effect, transforming the world through individual willpower is a massive leap, and most mages need spells as a form of self-hypnosis to maintain focus.

However, once you begin to imbue the spell itself with magic, you step into the realm of utterance magic. Being able to achieve this was the threshold that most mages couldn’t cross.

Natural talent didn’t make a difference here. Whether someone had an abundance of mana, heightened magical senses, or even genius intellect, if they didn’t possess the right qualities, they simply couldn’t do it.

Wardanaz should, therefore, feel fortunate and committed to studying utterance magic further.

“But…won’t that take ages?” I-han asked.

He’d heard about the notorious difficulty of utterance magic, with countless mages dedicating their lives to it without success.

“Hmm.” 

The Lord Gonadaltes considered this before holding up a finger. “If you devote all your spare time…”

“What spare time?” I-han interrupted. “I don’t have any to begin with.”

“Then maybe if you gave up your friends—fine. If you give every spare moment…”

“A year?”

“Are you crazy?”

“Anything longer than a year seems impossible,” I-han said. “I could still lack talent. Surely you’re not suggesting ten years?”

The thought of spending ten years on it left I-han considering whether he could manage that. But giving his all for ten years? *That’s poor value for the time invested,* he thought.

“More like a hundred.”

“...”

I-han gave the principal a stern look.

The Lord Gonadaltes tried to justify himself. “I set that estimate assuming you’d reach it at the shortest possible time due to your talent!”

“Oh…thank you, then.”

With that, I-han promptly discarded any thoughts of utterance magic.

“No, really. I think music magic seems more viable for now,” he said.

“Just because I mentioned the word ‘servant’ earlier, you’re taking this personally?” the principal snapped. “What did I ever do to you? I’ve looked after you since the day you joined Enroguard.”

Ignoring his rambling, I-han responded, “There are benefits to music magic.”

“Oh really? The only benefit I see is that it’s easy to squeeze research grants from gullible fools.”

The principal continued to grumble, but I-han remained steadfast.

“Utterance magic may be too difficult. Music magic, though lower-level, still has potential uses. Think of it as a simpler form of utterance magic.”

“Hm.” The Lord Gonadaltes expression grew serious at the mention of magic.

“A hundred years of utterance training might be nice, but even lower-level magic has value.”

Indeed, simpler magic had its merits. Not only was it accessible to lower-level mages, but even skilled mages didn’t use high-level spells all the time.

“Fine, I get what you’re saying.”

“See?”

“But shouldn’t other schools study something that low-level? And why should Enroguard do it? And even if some of Enroguard’s…simpler minds did study it, why you?”

*Fantastic.* I-han’s patience was stretched to its limits as he explained that music magic, though limited, could access auditory-based activation over distances and offer its own unique applications...

Finally, the Lord Gonadaltes relented.

“...All right, fine! The approach you demonstrated has some value. Continue with your research.”

*Success!* I-han sighed in relief.

Calling Ifadur over, the old bard seemed overjoyed at the positive turn of events.

“This is wonderful! Thank you, Lord Gonadaltes! I’m confident this will lead to major advances in music magic!”

The Skeleton Principal laughed, “Oh, I’ve done nothing. But if you’re inclined to write a song in praise of Enroguard, I won’t object.”

While Ifadur expressed his gratitude to the choir members, the Skeleton Principal turned back to I-han with a grumble.

“Imagine, a Wardanaz who loves music.”

“Me? What makes you think that?”

“Well, if you weren’t fond of it, you wouldn’t have fought for music magic. Besides, you’re now essential to this research.”

The new direction I-han had demonstrated involved two factors: increasing ambient mana density and imbuing vocal intonations with magic—abilities that, for now, only I-han possessed.

“Couldn’t we use an artifact to raise the mana density instead?” I-han suggested.

“Are you going to request funding from the Emperor himself?”

The Skeleton Principal’s question shut down that suggestion, and I-han desperately searched for another solution.

“Then we could bring in a mage who knows utterance magic…”

“Tell an utterance mage to work on something like music magic? They’d laugh in your face.”

“...”

“Wait, you don’t mean…”

“Thank you, Lord Gonadaltes! Let’s head to our next stop!” I-han quickly interrupted, saving himself from admitting his escape plan.

---

Their next destination was a vineyard located downstream of the village, managed by the Broken Horseshoe Farm, renowned for its excellent wines. Its owner, a brawny orc, was known for his singing skills, which apparently improved even further after a glass of his own wine.

“Hmm. Impressive skill,” remarked the Skeleton Principal, raising his eyebrow ever so slightly—a gesture as close to high praise as he ever gave.

*Maybe I should invest in this farm one day,* thought I-han.

“Would you mind singing for us?”

“It would be my honor!”

The orc proprietor took a swig of wine and, with a powerful voice, launched into song.

“Ah, life’s as fleeting as a glass of wine! Let’s drink, all of us…”

I-han stifled a yawn, barely paying attention to the performance.

When the song ended, the orc laughed sheepishly, scratching his head. “Perhaps this batch of wine wasn’t good enough. Last time I sang, everyone around me felt tipsy just from hearing it.”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” Ifadur assured him.

Songs vary based on the singer’s emotions, and results naturally differed. 

“If you don’t mind, Wardanaz, could you perhaps try as well?”

“Of course.”

After all the back-and-forth, I-han had already accepted his fate. He stepped up, cleared his throat, and prepared himself to sing.

Though he wasn’t thrilled about learning an additional branch of magic, at least the increase wasn’t as jarring as it would’ve been otherwise.

“Ah, life’s as fleeting as a glass of wine! Let’s drink, all of us…”

Just as before, the surrounding mana density heightened, and his voice began to resonate, though the crowd listened without any noticeable effect.

“...?”

“??”

“Let me try again,” said I-han, puzzled. Yet no matter how many times he sang, there was no noticeable magical effect.

“Did I make a mistake?” he wondered aloud.

“No…”

Both the principal and Ifadur watched him, equally baffled.

“I told you before, primitive magic is highly influenced by emotions. It’s just not working this time,” said the principal.

“Lord Gonadal

tes is correct,” Ifadur added. “What you achieved before was remarkable; failing now is nothing unusual.”

They reassured him, and I-han nodded reluctantly.

*If other songs fail too, then we’re in trouble.*

If I-han proved to be the only potential conduit for their breakthrough, the entire plan could come to a screeching halt.

---

Their final visit was to a knight’s barracks.

The veteran knight, known for rallying his fallen comrades with a single song, sang in a coarse voice.

“See the knight advancing, struck down by arrows, crushed by mace, pierced by sword, felled by spear…”

“See the knight advancing, struck down by arrows, crushed by mace, pierced by sword, felled by spear…”

The knights listening felt an unexpected surge of energy, gazing at one another in amazement.

“Unbelievable! Lord Gonadaltes!”

“I never thought simply listening to music could have such an effect!”

Relieved at his success this time, I-han exhaled in relief, only to find the Skeleton Principal giving him a peculiar look.

“Why are you staring, sir?”

“Nothing… It just suits your personality, is all.”

“???”